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A Shakey Dog Narrative (shakey is purposely misspelled) By Hab Richardson This is a bad idea, Frankie thought to himself as took a draw from his Newport 100 cigarette. Standing outside the bodega waiting for Tony, he thought of a hundred reasons why he shouldnt, as well as a hundred reasons why he absolutely could not pass up this lick. It was so cold outside that as he exhaled, he wondered to himself where the cancer smoke had ended and his breath began. The cold was so biting that despite his two layers of thermal underwear and goosedown heavy coat he still got cold shivers. Lucies1 used to be a quarter, he thought as he flicked his now finished nicotine stick. Frankie always had bad feelings about everything, but agreeing to rob a dope dealer with a man that he couldnt stand was currently sitting atop the poll. But if he showed up to next weeks child support court date without a dime, he knew hed be looking at jail time. Smacking his lips he muttered to himself, That bitch gone violate me, I fuckin know it. Just then, the chief violator himself came strolling out of the bodega with a six wings and fries snack, about thirty packs of ketchup and a Dutch Masters cigar stuffed under his bandana covered by a Cincinnati Reds cap. Did you call the fuckin cab nigga? he barked as he ripped the meat off his chicken wing with the ferocity of a caveman. Yeah man I called em, but its gone be like six lap dances2 to get to Happy Hill Gardens, Frankie answered. And what? Tony fired back. Man, I aint got but ten dollars to my name, you gone have to hold me down wit the rest. Frankie knew hed be subject to Tonys endless ridicule for bein a broke ass nigga but that was the least of his worries. The cab pulled up to the curb and an Arabian-looking guy let the window down and said, Frankie? Frankie and Tony immediately jumped in to escape the hawk3. Frankie looked at Tony

in disgust and watched him inhale his remaining chicken wings while leaving the fries untouched. The fuck you lookin at you ole ten dollar havin ass nigga? Tony snarked and laughed. The cab was sure warm but it reeked of old shitty pampers and vomit. Frankie gazed out the window with a blank look on his face, wishing he could press fast forward on life and get this heist over with. Tony pulled his many packs of ketchup out and began to tear them open and drench his fries with the salty fake blood. It looked down right gross and Tony didnt have any napkins, so with every ketchup-soaked fry he plucked and ate, he sucked his fingers dry like they were covered in barbecue sauce. The closer he got to the end of his fries the more ketchup he used. A sharp turn caused him to drop an open packet on his Jay-Z Reeboks. He yelled at the cab driver, Aye nigga, why dont you be easy in the turnpike, you got my new kicks all dirty! Frankie rolled his eyes and shook his head, wondering why anyone would wear brand new white kicks while going to do a stick up. Tony finished off his meal, let the window down and got his Boy Scout litterbug badge. He turned to Frankie, Tell that ole towel-head ass nigga to turn the radio up. Tony would tell him himself but he was preoccupied with rolling up the bag up weed hed pulled out of his pocket. Frankie couldnt stand Tony, he was just so belligerent, ignorant and at times plain stupid. The turban-less cabbie looked through his rearview mirror and rolled his eyes at Tony as he lit the blunt hed just rolled. Frankie looked at the cabdriver and waited on him to say something about the clouds of smoke bellowing from the back seat but he never did. Tony started to pass the wacky tobacco to Frankie but pulled it back at the last second and said, Two dollars, two puffs nigga! He always laughed at his own jokes, believing he was funnier than he really was. Nah kid Im messin wit you, he said as he gave Frankie the blunt.

They exited the cab about a block from Happy Hill Gardens and Tony pulled out his cell phone. Carlos, where the fuck yall at B? We just pulled up outside. Dont flim-flam me ese, Ima get the dope and shit yall niggas just betta have the cash nahimean? Frankies bad feeling returned as he and Tony walked behind Irmas Chicken & Ribs to check their weapons. Tony took the safety off his 9mm Browning. He looked at Frankie, Your weapon off safety? Frankie shook his head and asked, Dont you know nothin bout guns? There aint no safety on a glock. Surprised, Tony quipped, Excuse me, you ole gun-school graduate ass nigga. Frankie and Tony came out from behind Irmas and made their way up the block towards building 260 with their guns on tuck. Frankie took in the scene and made mental notes. He saw the four dudes standing on the corner. He saw the school bus letting kids off in front of 260. His stomach turned as he saw the UCs strolling from 260 towards building 160. Tony looked at Frankie barked, Yo, stop lookin around like a damn tourist! I see them niggas on the corner, I know each one of em and they all pussy. Corey, Mont, Rusty and Cliff? Them niggas scared of me anyway, bet they wont even make eye contact. The jakes is patrollin the area too so stay frosty6 Building 260 was without a doubt, the shittiest building in the projects. There were windows with multiple bullet holes and others with bars. Why someone living on the eighth floor of an eight-floor building needed bars on outfacing windows with no fire escapes was puzzling and a bit troubling. The zero in the building number was missing, shot down by the resident hoodlums during their annual New Years celebration where instead of fire crackers, they kill midnight clouds while aiming at the moon. The front door to the building doesnt close all the way. It sings a song of being shot through, kicked and pushed so far open that the hydraulic mechanism that makes sure it closes properly no longer works. The grounds, devoid of anything that might be

mistaken for grass, are strewn about with empty weed bags, broken glass, beer cans, candy wrappers and so many empty ketchup packs one would think it was Tonys personal french fry picnic grounds. As Tony and Frankie entered the building, they were met with several competing stenches. Urine, feces, weed, incense, chicken grease, kerosene and onions launched an assault on the nostrils of all who entered. At the end of the hallway was Miss Alma, a local legend who, according to stories Tony had heard, kept a sawed-off shotgun underneath the radiator. She leaned on a shopping cart from Kroger full of black bags with crushed pop cans. Her stringy gray hair was a mess under a dirty pink skull cap. Her feet had to have felt like ice blocks because her shoes were run over with no laces and the tongues just hanging like Michael Jordan soaring in for a dunk. Her trench coat probably used to be light brown but was now a dark dingy brown, covered with God-knows-what kind of spots. Frankie followed Tony up the stairs and inquired, So whats the deal wit her? They passed the second floor door and Tony answered, She used to work for Kingpin Kevin back in the late seventies. He put her on payroll after she picked up a contract Chad, his brother-in-law. Word on the street is he was beatin Kevins sister. So Chad is loungin at the punch bowl during his bosses wedding reception and Miss Alma walks up to him and guns him down in front of everybody. Kevin put her on a plane to Venezuela after that and she stayed for about eight years. As they opened the door to the third floor they heard doors slamming and kids screaming, probably the same kids whod just gotten off the bus a little earlier. Frankies bad feeling returned once and again and his skin began leaking. Tony motioned and whispered, Its the last door on the left. Hold up son, what the fuck is wrong wit you? You look mad paranoid nigga, is you aight? Frankies silent but affirmative head nod didnt stop Tony from again berating him. You got a bigger heater8 than me nigga, Im the one who should be scared! I swear on my dick you

fuck around and get us fucked up in here, Im shittin on you! That was just like Tony though, the mastermind of the whole operation promising to bail if it went awry. They approached apartment H and saw the door was cracked with the chain latch on. The onions they had smelled on the first floor finally had an owner, Giancarlo and his wife Lolita. Tony peeked through and saw the couple grubbing on t-bone steaks smothered in onions with rice and fried plantains. Tony began to think to himself how good those steaks looked, They prolly got them joints from Mannys Meat Market, he always got the specials on steaks. Damn, I want some. Heavy footsteps in the stairwell brought him back to reality. Yo Frankie somebody comin man, get behind me and put yo gun in my back, act like you stickin me up. Hurry up! Ima knock at the door, push me in when they open it. Remember you dont know me so blast him if he reach for his gun. Tony knocked on the door. Who the fuck is it? asked Giancarlo. Tony! One second man, this better be good. You know damn well you dont just be showin up to my gate9. Giancarlo removed the latch and Frankie shoved Tony into the apartment and slammed the door. Giancarlo was a statue with the biggest oh shit face ever. His gun was tucked into the waist band of his sweatpants. Frankie removed Giancarlos .22 caliber from his waste and hit him with the butt of his glock, Yeah nigga, this is happenin. I want the loot and the dope, tell me where it is so I dont have to season your broth10. Just then Lolita stood up yelling something in Spanish while brandishing a .45 caliber pistol. She ran toward the kitchen and fired a shot from behind the cover of the refrigerator. She missed badly and immediately screamed. The kickback

from the gun had broken a bone in her wrist. She dropped the gun, writhing in pain on the floor. Frankie had Tony and Giancarlo lay down on the floor. He walked over to Lolita who was crying and bleeding and ordered, Give it up bitch! She refused. Frankie was no longer nervous or shaky, he was enraged as he mounted the helpless woman and began pistol-whipping her. Hed never hit a woman before in his life but Tony couldnt tell as he muttered, Holy shit! Tony was so busy admiring Frankies handiwork that he didnt see Giancarlo crawl over to his dog cage. Bruno was a white purebred pit bull who was meaner than a Marine Corps drill sergeant. Giancarlo kept him in a cage with a cover over it because Happy Hill Gardens was a no pet project. Bruno must have thought it was feeding time as he raced out of the cage. Tony leapt to his feet in fear and ran towards Frankie. Frankie started shooting blindly as he backed up towards the bathroom. He fired shot after shot at the charging pit, one ricochet off the fridge and grazed Tonys ear. Shit man, shoot the dog not me! he exclaimed. Frankie nailed Bruno with a lucky but well-placed shot to the head. In a span of about three minutes, Giancarlo had lost his wife and his dog. The only thing he hadnt lost was his dope and his shoebox stash of cash. He still had no clue that Tony, the man he opened the door for, was behind it. Frankie and Tony hid out in the bathroom because surely Giancarlo had other guns and would probably be taking aim at them. Yo, the dope is in the vacuum in the back bedroom and the shoebox is in the closet, he called out as he surveyed his bloody apartment. Tony smiled at Frankie as they exited the bathroom. He hadnt lifted a finger during the entire heist, never even drew his gun, but here he was about to cash in big time. They got to the back bedroom and pushed open the door, it didnt open all the way but neither of them noticed. Frankie followed Tony into the room to secure the goods from the heist.

Suddenly the door began squeaking open. Frankie walked over to the vacuum and was about to turn it over to open it when he saw one of Giancarlos goons coming from just behind the door. He raised his gun and fired two times. The goon fell to the floor without even getting a chance to raise his own gun. Tony, who had secured the shoebox from the closet, turned around and admired his partners quick reflexes, Damn my nigga I preciate that. That nigga almost cooked both of us. Im bout to pop G-Carl for settin us up like that yo, freal! Frankie took the brick of dope out of the vacuums bag and stuffed it in his coat. He sat on the bed trembling, covered in blood and wondering how in the hell a simple 21111 had turned into multiple 187s12. Hed killed a dog; surely PETA would not be pleased. He could hear Tony yelling at Giancarlo in the living room. He stood up to make his way to the front of the apartment when out of nowhere, Tito, Giancarlos last remaining goon rolled out from under the bed. He shot Frankie in the ankle and watched him fall. Tito shuffled to his feet and stood over Frankie. He shook his head and rolled his eyes as he plugged Frankie with about six shots. Tony heard the gunshots from the living room and took off, leaving Frankie to meet his fate alone in the back bedroom. As the last remaining breaths left his body, Frankie felt a little like the victim of a drunk driver. It was as if he knew Tony wasnt sober enough to drive, yet he never took the keys. Furthermore, hed gotten into the car with him on this ill-advised trip. Tony had long left the scene, but without the bricks of dope hed gone there to get in the first place. Without the stolen merchandise Tony would not be able to make the bundle of cash from Carlos. He had escaped with his life though, through the midst of that intense gun battle, and was lucky to be alive. Down the stairwell he flew, like a sprinter on a hundred meter dash. He opened the door to the first floor of the building and stopped immediately. There were no cops anywhere near building 260, but

there was Miss Alma, standing square in the doorway with her shotgun point directly at Tonys chest. The rumors were sort of true. She did keep a shotgun tucked under the radiator of the first floor. What they didnt know was that she was Giancarlos last line of defense. She blasted Tony full of buck and stood over him, shaking her head as if to say, Yeah, you really messed up young man. ..

Superscript terms 1. Single cigarette 2. Sixty dollars 3. Bitter cold 4. Undercover cops 5. Police 6. Alert 7. Sweating 8. Gun 9. Apartment 10. Kill you 11. Armed robbery 12. Homicide